


never danced like this before

by pasdexcuses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Secret Relationship, florist, tattoo artist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theodore Nott does not believe in coincidences or fate but one day he meets Neville Longbottom again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never danced like this before

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Notes:** First of all, I’d like to thank chocobanish for the wonderful beta!
> 
> Dear 10oclockfairy , I hope you enjoy this. I just loved how open your prompt was, and it was so much fun writing for it!

There’s an alley behind the shops where they keep all the bins. It’s the kind of dingy place that barely fits two people standing next to each other, the kind that is dark even when it’s sunny. It smells of ink, oils and potions gone bad, mixed with the scent of flowers and plants in various stages of rotting. It’s not exactly pleasant, but they have gotten used it. 

Theodore shoves his knee between Longbottom’s legs, pushing him harder against the wall. He knows he’s probably biting down too hard on Longbottom’s lip, knows they’re both going to look a downright mess when they go back inside. He smirks at the thought, tugging hard at the ridiculous bowtie Longbottom wears until it comes undone

He works open the collar of Longbottom’s shirt before he goes for the buttons of his vest—it’s all part of the ludicrous attire Longbottom wears as a uniform: black trousers, white shirt, black bowtie and a teal vest. Theodore doesn’t even know why bothers with the vest anymore. It always gives him trouble, which always makes Longbottom chuckle. Really, Theodore should just let him get naked on his own. 

“Here,” Longbottom says, easily working open the vest. 

Theodore rolls his eyes. “This thing’s not very practical, is it?”

Longbottom pouts a little. Theodore reckons no grown man should ever be caught pouting, of all things. But—well—it looks kind of endearing on him. 

“I like it,” Longbottom says stubbornly. He fixes Theodore with a stare before he adds, “And I’d rather wear this than look like a hooligan.”

At this, Theodore snorts. He, unlike Longbottom, wouldn’t wear anything so Muggle to the workplace. But traditional robes, with their long sleeves and extensive amount of fabric, are not very comfortable for someone in Theodore’s line of work. He wears robes, yes, but his are sleeveless and tight around the chest. They’re black with bronze buttons and show off the tattoos that crawl up from his wrists and disappear into his back. They’re the kind of robes that makes witches tug a little harder at their children’s hands to guide as far away from Theodore as possible. 

“Well, if _you_ don’t like them,” Theodore starts, leaning back into Longbottom’s body.

In truth, he has no intention of changing anything for Longbottom, especially because he doesn’t actually think Longbottom minds all that much. He only says it to get something out of Longbottom, who doesn’t disappoint as he shakes his head and grabs Theodore’s face for another, deeper kiss.

It isn’t long before Theodore finds his way inside Longbottom’s pants, his cold fingers making Longbottom throw his head back when they wrap around his cock. He sucks a bruise on the exposed throat, shivering when he feels Longbottom’s hand on him, too. 

Their rhythm is not perfect because there are too many clothes and noises around them to properly focus on what they’re doing. But it works. They always manage to make it work. 

When he’s close, Theodore scratches his teeth against the bruise that’s already darkening on Longbottom’s throat. He comes first, hips stuttering against Longbottom’s. 

It takes them a minute to stop panting. Then they’re both wiping their hands on the closest surface. Theodore goes for the stonewall, figuring it cannot possibly get any dirtier. Longbottom goes for his vest, making a face when he looks down at himself.

“I think you tore a button,” he says, his finger probing at a hole in his shirt.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as someone with a fashion sense,” Theodore replies.

A smile tugs at Longbottom’s lips as he grabs the collar of Theodore’s robes to bring him in for another kiss. 

 

Theodore wears dragonhide gloves to make his own ink because the belladonna-based potions he uses tend to be rather toxic. He has to set aside an entire day every time he decides to make new batches of ink because it’s never a good idea to remain in the parlour while the steaming cauldrons release belladonna fumes. It’s a carefully planned process, from the moment he orders in powdered tints to the minutes he spends in the back alley of his tattoo parlour with his back pressed against the stonewall, waiting for the place to air out. 

He tips the contents of the cauldrons into clear jars that he keeps in a room at the very back of the parlour. The jars are all stored by date, and every now and again he’ll throw out a few that have started letting out astringent fumes. It’s why his bins always smell. 

He spends a decent amount of time caring for his ink. Not because he’s got an awful lot of competition in the tattoo parlour department—though Theodore suspects that will eventually change, as all commodities tend to rise in times of tedious peace. No, he does it because his father had always taught him that if you’re going to do something, you better make sure you do it right. Mediocrity is a sentiment fit for lesser beings, and nothing short of carefully planned perfection is acceptable. 

The truth is, the elder Mr Nott would’ve probably raised a quizzical brow at his son’s chosen profession after the war. But that is neither here nor there, for the elder Mr Nott died in said war, so what he would or wouldn’t have done regarding his son covering himself up with tattoos is rather inconsequential. 

The truth is, Theodore could have gone on to do whatever the hell he pleased. His father left him enough money to last for the rest of his life and then some. Theodore himself never took active part in any questionable activities that would’ve prevented him from training for positions in the Ministry. His marks at school were always on the impressive side of the scale. But he’s never wanted anything to do with Ministry, even before his father’s death. He’s never been one for hierarchies and organised groups, whatever their goals might be. 

 

Neville Longbottom has dirty blond hair that shines almost white under the sun and has the green smell of plants. He’d cut it short at the back but he has a fringe that constantly falls over his eyes. This fringe is the likely cause of his constant tripping and running into things. It surprises Theodore sometimes, how even years after school, Longbottom is still characteristically clumsy. 

Longbottom’s skin is slightly tanned from all the time he spends minding his plants. He has rough hands and dirt under his fingernails. The calluses scratch Theodore’s skin when they touch, and he never tells Longbottom this, but he really likes it. 

Longbottom has blue eyes that go wide the first time Theodore kisses him.

 

Theodore doesn’t recognise Longbottom when he first opens his greenhouse next to Theodore’s tattoo parlour. The realisation that the new owner of the shop next to his is none other than Neville Longbottom only comes to him when he steps out into the back alley for some air and catches Longbottom tripping on thin air. The rotting flowers he’s brought out to throw in the bins scatter all over the dirty ground, and flustered Longbottom curses under his breath.

The image quickly registers as a slight variation of something he’s seen before. And while normally he wouldn’t bother playing nice, Theodore walks over to help. He has no explanation for the impulse that makes him bend down and start picking up dead plants. 

But he doesn’t regret it, not when Longbottom looks up with wide, blue eyes to thank the person helping him pick up the mess. 

Their eyes meet by accident. And maybe it’s the shock of not having seen someone familiar for a very long time, but their hands move at the same time, brushing against each other before they both drop the flowers again. 

“Oh, bugger,” Longbottom says under his breath, kneeling down again. 

“And here I was, convinced this neighbourhood wasn’t nice enough for your lot,” Theodore says, dusting off his robe as he stands up.

He doesn’t bother helping out a second time. He’s a Slytherin after all, and one selfless act a day is about as much generosity as he can muster. Instead, he focuses on Longbottom’s shape on the ground. The alley is dark and dingy, and Longbottom’s clothes will certainly be ruined after his stint on the floor. 

Longbottom’s _clothes_ give him pause. Because he’s not wearing robes, like any respectable wizard would. No, he’s wearing this ridiculous Muggle thing with trousers and a shirt and a vest. When Longbottom turns around to reply, Theodore catches the bowtie around his neck. 

From the ground, Longbottom stares up at him. “My lot?” he asks, brow furrowed. 

It takes Theodore a moment to recover from the sight of Longbottom in a bowtie. 

“Your lot, yes,” he replies eventually. Then, composing himself, he adds, “The Saviours of the World. Crusaders for the Greater Good, or whatever you call yourselves.”

Longbottom chuckles at this and says nothing as he finishes picking up his mess. He dumps everything in the bins and stalls, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before finally speaking, “So, you’re my mystery neighbour?”

“Mystery?” Theodore frowns. It’s not the first time someone calls him a mystery, but this time, he hasn’t even been trying. “Have I been hiding without knowing?”

“Well, not hiding, no. I mean, I just never see you, right? So, you’ve been a mystery because you’re never around and—”

“For the record,” Theodore cuts in, “I’ve not been hiding.”

“Right.” The alley is too dark to make out Longbottom’s face properly, but Theodore has the distinct impression that he is blushing. “I didn’t mean to offend you, or—”

And if Theodore remembers correctly, Longbottom has a tendency for talking himself into very strange situations. So before he can do so and drag the both of them down into a bottomless pit of inane conversation, he cuts him off, again, “I’ll see you around.”

He has no intention of actually seeing Longbottom ever again. He might even consider intentionally being a mystery. 

 

Theodore is a man of action. 

Or rather, he’s a man of meticulously considered action, which is why, more often than not, he can pass by unseen. It’s all carefully calculated because being in the spotlight has never brought anyone any good. It’s hard to manipulate situations to your liking when everyone can see you. 

No, the best course is to remain on the edges, where the landscape can spread out before you. It’s why he’s always been rather good at getting exactly what he wants. 

 

Theodore doesn’t believe in coincidences, he believes in carefully planned outcomes and consequences. He doesn’t believe that everything happens for a reason, doesn’t believe in destiny or prophecies. He believes people choose the devil they run with. 

He doesn’t believe in coincidences or fate but one day he steps outside for some fresh air, and there’s a young man trying to balance a crate of rotting flowers. Their hands brush when Theodore walks over to help, and that is all it takes. A single second, where time slows down and stretches out its arms until its fingertips are dangerously close to Theodore’s very core. 

A moment suspended in time. 

Theodore doesn’t believe in coincidences or fate but on that day he steps outside for some fresh air, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the man with the flowers. 

 

Longbottom likes to be bitten. 

It’s probably one of the most surprising things about him, because Longbottom often looks like the pinnacle of All That Is Good, what with his blond hair and baby blue eyes. He looks like the sort of boy any father would be proud to have his daughter marry. Theodore has no trouble imagining Longbottom playing the part of the ideal son-in-law. He’d probably bring the right sort of wine to dinner, laugh at all the right jokes and stare so fondly at his partner as to leave no doubt there’s absolutely no one better in the world for the part. 

He tilts Longbottom’s head back and licks a bruise that is about four days old and already fading. Longbottom moans a little, and Theodore can’t see him properly under the dim light of the loo of the bar, but he’s pretty sure Longbottom’s flushed. 

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Longbottom croaks out, a hand twisted in Theodore’s hair. 

“Where would you like to go?” Theodore asks, taking a break from Longbottom’s neck. 

Longbottom stares at him for a moment, searching Theodore’s face for some kind of answer. Then, shaking his own head, he says, “Never mind.”

Theodore murmurs an “okay” against Longbottom’s skin as he goes back to his previous task. 

He imagines Longbottom going to dinner with a giant, purple bruise on his neck. It’s a funny thought for him to have, he thinks. But it does make him wonder why Longbottom is not out there, impressing fathers-in-law. Theodore’s father is well dead, and even if he weren’t, Theodore doubts he would have been very impressed by his choice. 

He wonders if Longbottom is the sort of person who likes to be bitten in dark alleys in the middle of his break and go back home later to his lovely wife and children. He doesn’t strike Theodore as the type who’d do that, but then again, he supposes there are a lot of things about Longbottom he doesn’t know. 

 

A good five years after the war, Theodore walks into the greenhouse next door. He’s specifically looking for a rare kind of orchid that he usually orders by owl around this time of the year. 

Theodore is browsing, walking in between the pots of plants when his eyes land on Longbottom at the counter. Longbottom blinks at him, staring for a good moment as though he’s trying to make sure he’s not imagining things. Shrugging, Theodore moves on. 

He spots the orchids on the other end of the greenhouse and makes his way to them. Longbottom has a good collection of them, all perfectly classified. If Theodore were the teasing sort, he’d probably crack a joke about Longbottom being anally organised. As it is, he just appreciates the order. 

He’s searching the labels when he feels someone standing behind him. 

“Everyone needs flowers, from time to time,” Theodore explains. 

“Uh.” Longbottom opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. Theodore catches him staring at his tattoo sleeves, eyes lingering as though he’s cataloguing every bit of exposed skin. Eventually, he says “Are you, um, looking for anything in particular?”

Theodore looks back at the flowers. “I am, yes,” he replies absent-mindedly, reaching over some of the pots to grab the flower at the back. 

The orchid he grabs has bright, venom-green petals with a deep red centre. From afar, it looks as menacing as carnivorous plant. Happy with the estate of the plant, Theodore walks over to the counter to pay for it and leave. 

Longbottom rings him up, asks whether he wants a bag and then just sort of stares at him, change in hand. 

“Longbottom,” Theodore prompts, gesturing at his money.

“Oh, sorry,” Longbottom apologises. He gives back the change and bites his lip before blurting, “It’s just that you’ve never been here before.”

“So?” Theodore asks. “Should I have gone somewhere else? I do need the flower.”

“No, of course not,” Longbottom rushes out his answer. “It’s just…well, it’s been what—two months? I can’t remember seeing you under a proper light.”

Theodore blinks a couple of time, a little thrown aback. Has it really been that long? he wonders. 

“It’s nice to see you,” Longbottom adds, cheeks a little pink. 

And it’s not like Theodore has been intentionally keeping their encounters to breaks next to their bins and dark bars after they both close up. It’s just that those are convenient, aren’t they? That is all this is: convenient. 

Theodore nods his goodbye before leaving. 

 

The words ‘two months’ swim around his head the rest of the afternoon. He’s not quite sure how it escaped him that it’d already been that long. He even brings out a calendar to make sure the count is right. 

He closes early that afternoon, stepping outside to Apparate to a far away cemetery, orchid in hand. 

He makes the familiar way uphill. There’s a mausoleum right on the other side of the hill, and, beside it are the two tombs of his parents. The mausoleum belongs to the Nott family, and, had his mother not insisted upon being buried out in the open, both tombs would have been inside, too. But Theodore’s mother was always put upon by the idea of a tomb that didn’t look up at the sky.

Theodore doesn’t believe in coincidences or fate but the dates of his parents’ death are three days from each other, though his mother passed a good eight years before his father. 

Leaving the orchid on his mother’s tomb, he conjures a bouquet of white roses to place on his father’s before sitting on the ground. There’s no point in talking to a couple of stone heads, but he’s never been able to shake the habit of just sitting in front of the stones as though he were sitting in front of his parents. After all, he used to come here to think, when he first started at Hogwarts. 

The words ‘two months’ dance around in his mind as he breathes in the fresh air of the countryside. 

He leaves as the sun starts to set, thinking that he’s lucky, in a way. He will not disappoint anyone by being with a blood traitor for two months. 

 

It’s summer, so both their shops stay open until fairly late. The sun hasn’t set yet when Theodore closes his but he doesn’t mind the wait. 

It’s somewhere around eleven when Longbottom knocks on his door. It’s properly dark and their street is quiet. They’re probably the only ones left as they walk to the nearest park. 

The park is in Muggle London, and Theodore can’t remember whose idea it first was to go there from time to time. But it’s nice and quiet, and at this time of the year the trees and bushes are full of leaves. It’s easy to find a spot that’s secluded enough.

Longbottom grabs his waist first. “Hello,” he says, smiling as he goes to press a kiss to Theodore’s mouth. 

Theodore digs his fingertips at the base of Longbottom’s skull. He deepens the kiss, and in a matter of seconds, he has Longbottom on his back. Theodore sneaks a knee in between Longbottom’s legs, hands snaking under his shirt. He thinks distantly about how his robes are going to be ruined with grass stains but he doesn’t really care. Not when he’s got Longbottom all to himself. 

They pant against each other, rubbing in all the right ways because they’ve been doing this for a while. They’ve become quite good at pushing buttons and earning moans. A part of Theodore wants to take Longbottom somewhere nice, so he can spread him out on a proper bed and make him croak out pretty noises all night. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers with some degree of preoccupation that this part has been steadily growing. 

He sighs against Longbottom’s skin, and Longbottom pats his hair. His hair tie has come undone and his hair keeps falling over his eyes. He guesses it happens often enough that Longbottom already knows to tug Theodore’s hair behind his ears before kissing him again. 

They take their time on nights like these because they don’t often get to have each other for this long. He doesn’t really think about the fact that having more time for each other is just a matter of wanting it bad enough. Mostly, Theodore just thinks that Longbottom looks rather nice under this particular moonlight. 

It’s getting chilly when they’re lying on their backs, tired in the best of ways. Their shoulders touch, and Longbottom swings a leg over Theodore’s knee, leaves it there. They could fall asleep like this. Theodore lets himself bask in the quiet. He’s always enjoyed the silence but it’s a bit hard to find other people who want to share it. 

Eventually, though, Longbottom says in a rough, almost sleepy voice, “So,” he yawns, “who were the flowers for?”

It’s about the most personal question either of them has asked. 

Theodore shrugs and doesn’t answer, turning his face to the stars. It’s hard to see many in the city, but he knows enough astronomy to fill in the gaps. 

“It’s not like I’ll get mad, you know,” Longbottom presses, now considerably more awake. 

Theodore’s first instinct is to tell Longbottom he doesn’t care whether he gets mad or not. He barely manages to restrain himself, knowing Longbottom probably wouldn’t take that comment well. 

“I mean,” Longbottom continues, “I know we’re not… Whatever.”

Theodore props his head on his hand to have a better look at Longbottom as he asks, “We’re not whatever?”

“I know we don’t go out in public, and we don’t do dates or even proper sex because we’re always some place weird like the middle of a Muggle public park.” Longbottom has sat up and is biting down on his lip. He adds, “And it’s fine because—well, we’re just having a bit of fun, right?”

Theodore blinks at him, confused. “I didn’t know you _wanted_ to do that,” he replies. “You never said a thing.”

“Well, I…I figured you didn’t want to be seen with…me,” Longbottom finishes lamely. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m me?” Longbottom answers. “Because I’m a bloke and a Muggle-lover to boot?”

“Well, why would you want to be seen with me?” Theodore counters. “I’m a bloke, a Slytherin, a known sympathiser of the Dark Side and I make my living marking people’s skin for life.”

At this, Longbottom chuckles. “I guess you’re right.” He looks up at the sky and asks it, “Why would we want to?”

“I wouldn’t mind doing this on a proper bed,” Theodore ventures. 

Longbottom turns to him, eyes bright. “ _Why_ have we never gone for a proper bed? I have a bed, and I assume you don’t go around sleeping in coffins.”

It makes Theodore laugh, genuinely laugh as he stares at Longbottom’s thoughtful face. Why, indeed. 

“I do have a bed. It happens to be very nice,” Theodore offers after he manages to calm down. 

“Shoulda said something earlier.”

 

Theodore Nott does not believe in coincidences or fate but one day he meets Neville Longbottom again and, for some reason, he refuses to let go.


End file.
